Diary of an unknown artist

Axis artists database

2012-02-08T08:43:00.000-08:00

'Axis is at the forefront of presenting artists' practice on the web and connects with other organisations to run events, exhibitions and initiatives that benefit artists...'

I joined Axis in 1999. At the time it was neutral and the criteria were that you needed a formal art qualification and a CV showing exhibition history. I have been a member all these years. My subscription was due to expire on 31st January so I went to my account pages to renew it, and to my disbelief there was a message saying that I had been declined as a member as I had failed the new review process.

After clicking on the link to their revised list of criteria, I realised I had failed on the last of five - namely that I fitted the term 'modern' but not the term 'contemporary.' They made it clear that they had decided to review all artists who joined before 2005 (when certain extra criteria were introduced). Their new remit implied that they would still accept certain traditional or figurative based works. So where, in the end, was the dividing line? It seemed, in my opinion, that the organisation was no longer a neutral showcase for a diverse range of art, but had become a reflection of the selectors' tastes or ideas of what art should be. I had noticed that increasingly it showcased digital/photographic or video based media.

I put out a message on Facebook, and have had a large number of responses from other artists, and I am now pursuing the matter with letters to various art magazines. My complaint to Axis brought no positive result, so now I am fighting for the right of all kinds of art to be reinstated on this website that was started with public funding and still gets public funds. It is a fight for the individual's voice rather than collective opinion, and for the rights of the website's visitors to find a cross-section of art rather than a reflection of market place values or trends.

www.axisweb.org

('Afiromeni.' oil and acrylic on board, 61cm x 31cm, 2012)

Time or Not

2011-12-22T06:00:00.000-08:00

As Christmas draws closer, I am racing to finish some work before a few days of non-painting causes my oils to dry. I remember my student days, when time was a distant concern and I could devote all my waking hours to my paintings. A false sense of time stretched out indefinitely. As I tweaked some paintings yesterday, I debated whether a lack of time seriously damages or invalidates one's work. For most artists, 5 days a week in a studio is a goal yet to be attained, so painting is slotted between daily duties. I know artists who work full-time and paint at night, or spend all their weekends painting. I would dearly love the chance to paint full-time, as I believe that it promotes a flow and rhythm I can't have when I work in irregular hours, snatched here and there. (Though I probably have more time to paint than friends who have children.)

But all the part-time artists I know haven't suffered any loss of integrity or substance in their work. So it made me wonder if perhaps a lack of time can force you to focus very intensely and make some deeply considered and quite definite decisions. I wondered if perhaps it could be turned to an advantage? Most artists are painting even when the brush is not in their hand, and it's possible to sit in front of my canvas and find that the stored hours of visual adjustments and possibilities, played with internally during daily routines, suddenly flood into the painting. Many a painting has been finished in the final half hour, when pressure forced unexpected resolutions.

('Terrain.' Oil and acrylic on board, 31cm x 61cm)

Interpretation versus taste

2011-11-25T08:44:00.000-08:00

Taste and prejudice are the enemies of creativity. As a painter I can't afford to 'hate' any colour or my options are limited. Through the act of painting, new horizons open and we follow where they lead, without self editing. The worst thing is when someone says 'I prefer it when you paint trees,' or 'Your flower paintings were so good.' Other people's interpretation of what you do grows from many sources, some relevant, some not, but how crushing it is when someone blocks the flow with a random remark. I've known painters who couldn't paint for days.

Recently an art agent collected 11 canvases for a show. I thought a lot afterwards about how others look at my work once it has (hopefully) become a separate world. Always there is the fear of how one's work will be interpreted - and of course, maybe I am deluded and in a creative cul-de-sac without realising it! (The fact that it is not an exact science leads me to many wobbly moments.) What amazed me was that she selected what I considered to be one of my worst paintings ever. ('Puddles in the Park.') I wondered what she had seen in it that I was unable to connect with, because of the tangle of aesthetic and technical questions in my mind.

I had deliberately used shapes and colours that challenged my visual comfort zone, and had been unable to unify them. I let the painting go for exhibition as perhaps when it re-enters the studio, it will need just a tweak here and there.

One of the exciting and eternally challenging aspects of painting is that there is no set viewpoint, no one way or fixed interpretation. But artists tread a fine line between listening, and closing our ears to unproductive interpretations when working.

Then there are the demands and evaluations of the market, but that's another post!

('Puddles in the Park,' oil on canvas 50cm by 70cm. 'Coastal Landscape,' oil on board 12ins by 24ins)

Square versus Rectangle

2011-11-14T04:29:00.001-08:00

Recently I have been exploring differently shaped canvases to challenge my increasingly pre-set response to landscape composition. It occurred to me how the dynamics change according to the shape you choose. When it comes to painting in situ, I tend to automatically use a rectangular shape of watercolour paper, yet I don't want 'automatic' responses in my work!

I stretched up a selection of squares and rectangles, and found myself totally out of my comfort zone. Squares seem to demand that you 'break' their calmness and symmetry, and this in itself gives clues as to how to build the composition. I found it literally opened new horizons for me. Rectangles were a bit more familiar, so I tried some longer ones, and then of course you have to make sure your painterly elements link along the entire dynamic. New questions appear, which in turn expand your perception and approach.

In writing this, I'm aware that it may come across as being quite technical and devoid of the emotional aspects of painting. I believe that as a painter, you need to keep evaluating technical and aesthetic issues, in order to find the best expression for your evolving emotional responses to both paint and external factors. The shape of your 'arena' seems to be a huge factor in the presentation of your passion and ideas, and a very exciting one.

(Paintings: 'Autumn Rythms,' oil and acrylic on canvas, 90cm x 50cm. 'Breezy Spring Day,' oil and acrylic, 60cm x 27cm. 'The Hill,' 30cm x 30cm, Oil and acrylic on canvas)

I Never Imagined.....

2011-09-19T23:53:00.001-07:00

When I made this drawing 25 years ago, I was teaching English at the Americanos College in Nicosia, and this was the view from my second floor classroom. The large window framed the main square, and the Nicosia Town Hall. It was an image I loved, and on my days off I drew from the flat roof above my classroom. It was a magical time, and I'll never forget drawing above the piercing sound of traffic, as the flickering sunlight cast green fire into the foliage below. As the heat burned my back, I delighted in the sense of being in my own secret world. Possibilities fanned out all around me, and on my paper.

I never imagined that one day, many years later, and after a life tapestry heavily textured with grief and light, I would be married in that same Town Hall. I often wonder if there's a time-line that with some insight I could have looked down, and seen that future self stepping into that muted pink building, with its lovely columns, on a day when I was truly, incredibly happy.

I married on August 5th, at 11.30am, to a wonderful man I have known for 9 years, and had a long distance relationship with for five years. Everything just fell into place, in a way that's rare in life. We booked our marriage 48 hours before the event. My pace slowed as we walked along the cool corridor to the Registrar's office, because I recognised paintings by Cypriot artists I knew well. Suddenly I stopped in front of a huge oil painting of Nicosia. 'It's my painting!' I shouted so loudly that a woman came running out of a nearby room. But she began smiling when I explained that this was the painting I'd donated to the Mayor of Nicosia in 1988! I hadn't seen it since 1990, when it was hanging in the conference room, and I'd assumed it was in a dusty cupboard somewhere! I felt as if the past had reached into the future, and seeped into the committment I was about to make.

They allowed us to take photos in front of the painting, a few minutes before the marriage. For a split second I remembered Tom, who died 13 years earlier, and who had embodied Nicosia for me back then. As I took my vows, I felt that a huge circle had closed.

(Photos: Me in front of the Town Hall: Me with my Marriage Certificate: In front of my Nicosia painting, just before we married: my charcoal drawing of the Town Hall.)

Waves of Life

2011-07-26T05:12:00.000-07:00

It came as a surprise to see how long it is since I wrote my Blog. It was entirely unintentional, as life's waves engulfed me and I lost all sense of time! I've been taking part in exhibitions, entering work for other Open Submission shows, and trying to arrange my wedding in Cyprus. The loveliest months of the summer have just slipped by. And as this is also being written against the clock, I'm just going to add a couple of new paintings. (Inscape 1 & 2, oil on canvas, 30cms by 40cms)

Ups and Downs

2011-05-26T05:14:00.000-07:00

I'm used to delivering work personally to a gallery so it was a new experience on Tuesday to be packing 8 canvases for a show in Bristol. Though the canvases were small, (40cms by 30cms) it took at least an hour to bubblewrap them, and make sure they were sufficiently protected for the long journey. My work was selected for a 'Small Artworks' exhibition at the Nails Gallery, which is on for 3 weeks in June. For peace of mind, I insured my large package, which to my relief actually arrived intact.

Yesterday I delivered 2 paintings to the Llewellyn Alexander gallery, in London, for the NOT THE ROYAL ACADEMY exhibition. My work was selected from photos, though the gallery also takes works rejected by the selection committee for the Royal Academy Summer Show. I had entered a work for the Royal Academy Summer Show, and to my disappointment was turned down, but as it's known to be a lottery (with preference given to names, Academicians, established artists), I consoled myself with the acceptance to the other shows, and the very positive feedback I'm getting on Facebook for my paintings from internationally established artists. It's a hard route, strewn with rejections and criticism, and at moments like this your artist friends keep your spirits up. And of course, the sirens endlessly calling you to your personal artistic journey.......

(Blue painting: 'Paths.' 30cms by 40cms, Oil on canvas. Pink painting, 'Homage to Spring.' 40cms by 30cms, Oil on canvas.)

Second Day

2011-04-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I took this painting up to the Royal Academy for yet another attempt at the Summer Show. How many of us try hopefully each year, knowing that the odds are not favourable? I hurried through the Burlington Arcade, with its gleaming shop windows and neat little boxes of sparkling jewellery, pastel knitwear, expensive shoes in a variety of striking colours, and an aura of hushed exclusivity. I wondered where the other artists were, why no one was struggling with large paintings through the narrow walkway filled with shoppers.

It was the Second Day. I realised with a shot of panic that possibly most people deliver their work on the first delivery date. Do people believe that you have more chance if your painting passes along in the line of thousands on that First Day, while the selectors' eyes are still fresh and open to excitement? It's something I've always believed, but this year I was forced into the Second Day. As I reached the end of the arcade, and turned towards the Royal Academy back entrance, I noted the empty street. First Day delivery ensures a long wait in an ever-growing queue which frequently disappears out of view. Each foot of forward motion is wedged between interminable bands of non-movement. A sense of triumph follows the handing over of your work, and a quick exit passes the still-growing queue.

Yesterday I breezed down the long, narrow entrance to the Royal Academy, and unwrapped my small painting. Television cameras were there, filming an artist who was unwrapping a large canvas of purple flowers. As I left, small groups of artists were arriving, but the atmosphere was very different to First Day. The long queues seemed to emanate a sense of urgency and energy.

Afterwards I reasoned with myself that if one's chances are so small anyway, First or Second Day probably makes almost zero difference!

('One Among Many,' oil and acrylic on canvas, 41cm x 51cm )

March 19th, First real day of Spring

2011-03-21T06:21:00.001-07:00

After 4 months of not being able to paint in situ, I was finally able to go out on Saturday. It was the first clear blue sky, the first truly warm air of the year. As I walked up the long drive into the grounds at Burrswood, I could hardly wait to open my watercolour book. The bright sunlight etched skeletal branches with gold, and deep shadows flooded the emerald grass. I usually paint outdoors in January and February, as I like to experience the minute changes to the colours as the seasons progress, but this winter has been too cold, wet, or snow-bound.

Painting outdoors is important to me because through this experience I can re-evaluate elements that are relevant to my studio-based (and more imaginative-based) paintings. I love painting in front of nature, I also love re-assembling the experiences on canvas away from nature. Everything feeds into everything else. Something seen months earlier suddenly pops up as a shape or colour on my canvas.

('March 19th,' watercolour, 16ins x 12ins, painted in situ/ 'The Best May Blossom Ever,' Acrylic on board, 61cm x 91cm, studio painting)

Emotional Cords

2011-03-07T05:11:00.000-08:00

There comes a point when you have to detach from a painting. I have a natural tendency to obsess over my work so I'm quite grateful when I reach a state of detachment through outside forces. Often a friend or family member will say, 'That looks finished to me,' and I step back, drink a coffee, and try to view the painting as if I hadn't painted it. How many times has a friendly remark prevented me from over-working a picture! Sometimes turning it to the wall for a week has the same advantages.

As I prepared to deliver my latest commission, I realised with some relief that it was finished after all. Up until that moment of cutting the emotional umbilical cord, I can't enjoy the painting. Once it stands separately from me, it can go off into the world hopefully with the meaning that was intended. My 'Nicosia Balconies at Night,' held exactly the sense of place I'd wanted to convey.

Then the process begins all over again; the same searching, the same self-doubt that is the Artist's life. I'm working on 5 more canvases, of differing sizes, and the first rays of sunlight brought with them an invitation to put two painting in the Not The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition at the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery in London.

(Photos: Fiona with a large Turkish Baths canvas/A selection of recently completed works, and works in progress.)

Admin versus Creativity

2011-03-02T08:58:00.000-08:00

After much painting, erasing, and contemplation, and numerous cups of coffee, my commission is finished. I could have gone on longer, but felt that it had reached the stage where it conveyed the buzz of night life and multi-layered conversations that were the original impetus. It's a theme I love, as each brushstroke takes me back to my many night-time walks around Nicosia, and colours start to carry the essence of those memories.

The painting will be delivered on Saturday, but during the painting process my client was kept updated by the means of photos of the progress of the painting attached in emails. Modern technology can be so helpful for an artist and saves so much time.

Much of my painting day tends to be taken up with what friends refer to as 'Admin Time.' Perhaps there was a Golden Era when galleries sought out artists and opportunities dropped in through the letterbox each day. Now we have to be on constant alert for exhibition opportunities and the chance to showcase our work. This means signing up to gallery newsletters online, joining artists' databases, and constant networking (often on the internet) and putting your work on as many websites as you can find! It is time consuming and can be expensive, and of course there are thousands all doing the same thing. But what I love about the internet is how easy it is to enter other artists' worlds and make connections. My own practice has been greatly extended by sites such as Facebook, which allows me daily discussions with artists around the world.

('Nicosia Balconies at Night,' 120cm by 60cm, Oil and Acrylic on canvas.)

Travel

2011-02-16T04:55:00.000-08:00

As 2010 ticked into 2011, I was standing watching the fireworks in Nicosia, Cyprus, with my partner. As the fireworks exploded, and cascades of fiery stars fell through the darkness, I cheered loudly with the crowds. Faces shone with the universal hope a New Year always brings.

A few days later, after numerous walks through sunlit parks glowing with the artificial greens that unfold at that time of year, I was yearning to paint. I wrote this in my diary:

'Images are struggling to get out, beating against closed eyelids: when I close my eyes they flit across my inner vision, they seep into dreams, they burst out from behind and between leaves and concrete as I walk, they float up from the sweet earth and sing from the trickling river. I smell them as I pass rainbow flowers, and hear them bubbling behind apocalyptic clouds strewn with grey streamers. Vision and experience cross over into one another, they mutate into something new and bright. I sense the life forces between things, and feel the energies. The problem is to find the right form of expression and this takes time, focus and integrity. I don't want to follow trends or adapt my work for commercial reasons. It has to be pure, at the 'risk' of never making it in the 'real' world.'

('Out of the Loop,' watercolour, 16ins x 12ins, painted in Nicosia.)

Choices

2010-12-29T08:00:00.000-08:00

As I prepare to go to Cyprus for a few weeks, I'm thinking about the way that no one thing affects the way a painting evolves. Poetry flows from layers of experience, finds its path into a painterly vision from mulitple scents, sights and emotions, and memories.

'Choices: Carob Trees and Figures at Dusk' emerged through the act of painting, and through the realisation that the points of red paint could be a metaphor for the last rays of the sun during a walk along the coast in Paphos. The choices represent paint choices, as much as referring to the choices we all make as human beings. It was painted 3 months after my experience of the coastal walks, but I start to wonder if perhaps that passage of time allows a purer synthesis of

the original sensations. Links are constantly forged, broken, re-created, and drop into a painting in unexpected ways. I find the contrasts between painting in situ, painting from memory, and the many walks here and abroad coagulate and re-assemble in my work in ways that are increasingly exciting me.

('Choices: Carob Trees and Figures at Dusk,' Oil and acrylic, 91cm x 61cm)

Overlapping Lives

2010-12-15T00:47:00.000-08:00

As I prepare to continue work on a large commission, I'm remembering the many commissions I undertook when I lived in Cyprus. The memories are particularly poignant as the painting I've been commissioned to do is based on one of my favourite themes, Nicosia at night. I have always loved night and random views through windows onto people's lives. In Nicosia, people tend to live on their balconies, especially in the summer. I'd push my way through crowds on the pavements, catching snippets of conversations, while my eyes were always drawn to figures on balconies above. They would be sitting at tables eating, or watching a TV pulled out of a half-lit room. Sofas jostled for space with plant pots. Lights flickered eerily within fluorescent rectangles, curtains danced in the longed for breezes, and figures leaned wearily across their washing and watched me move past. Lives overlapped, breaths were shared, and heartbeats echoed within shimmering blocks of yellows and greens.

Sometimes I sat on the flat roof of my building in darkness and watched shadowy forms moving inside semi-lit rooms. My eyes journeyed through the many shades of Night's interiors. All the time I tried to memorise the particular warmth, scent and pulse of night. Gradually it seeped into me.

The painting has evolved from these memories. I know the streets intimately, I know those crooked balconies and unevenly spaced rectangles of colour. I can smell fried food, hear the chink of dishes. It is a theme I could paint forever because within each brushstroke I'm reliving my walks and the warm passages of night life.

('Nicosia Night,' 120cm by 60cm, oil on canvas - work in progress.)

Finish It

2010-11-19T06:25:00.000-08:00

The eternal Artist's Dilemma is: How do you know when a painting is finished? It's something that I've dissected a lot recently, as I try to finish 3 troublesome paintings, and prepare to start a large commission. In trying to assess whether a painting works (for me), I take into account a number of factors:

Does it bounce back to me something of the original intent and emotion - especially important when a painting starts from a word or experience.
Do the colours work all across the painting, not just in sweet, tempting little pockets?
Have I in some way gone beyond the original idea?
Have I created a self-contained world?

This painting took a long time to finish. It was inspired by the vibrant memory of Spring trees seen on a daily car journey. One morning I said to myself that the passages of colours were so sumptuous that I wanted to dive into them! I began painting in a burst of energy. Once I start and colours are painted on, wiped off, gouged, knifed, stroked on, swiped on, I find that it is indeed like swimming across a tapesty of essences and meanings. They keep coming into focus - then a slash with the palette knife, a sweep with a loaded brush, and they slip out of focus.

For me, painting is life splattered across a surface, my breathing, feeling, movement pressed and encapsulated into brushstrokes. I have to excavate the image from the paint, and to re-experience my lived experience......incidents, events, relationships made and broken, redefined, a change of mind, all the time surfing on edges, textures, bursts of time and colour.

In the end it's that indefinable something that either lets the painting stand or fall. 'Finished ' can be some sudden flourishes of last minute indecision. Searching and finding are the sirens that call me back to paint over and over again.

And then you simply hope that it may meet some recognition in someone else.

('Diving Into Green.' Oil and acrylic, 91cms by 61cms)

Goats and Celery

2010-11-01T07:13:00.001-07:00

October 14th Thursday.

The Frieze Art Fair takes place over 5 days in October and features over 170 galleries from around the world. This year it was on my calendar as a must-see. A queue of shivering, cloaked forms stretched beyond the huge tents in Regents Park towards a hazy infinity. Yellow and gold foliage flickered in the breezes, and someone shouted out, 'There's the Mayor of London arriving on his motorcycle!' The art critic Matthew Collings drifted by as I wondered if I'd ever reach the entrance.

Once inside the biggest tent I'd ever seen, the sense of excitement was infectious. Galleries had carved the massive space into pristine white cubicles. Each space had its own identity and I struggled against determined spectators to see the wares on display. The gallery representatives all looked so young and model-like and were worthy of being exhibits themselves. I checked around for the artists. These were the Sacred Ones, the cream of gallery artists, and I thought if I looked hard I might learn their secrets. Is there a gallery Circuit you can get on, how do you get on it, and once there, how hard is it to keep your footing?

I saw some wonderful Picasso drawings, some work by famous artists (Chris Ofili, Damien Hirst) and a fair amount of what I felt was rather cliched, sensation-grabbing stuff (a line of pornographic magazines laid across a table top). A couple of large paintings took my breath away. I handed out a few postcards of my own paintings just for the hell of it. And then reached overload, when it all spun in my mind and suddenly had no meaning!

There's so much media attention around Frieze, and the accompanying parties and bright young stars. It's like the Oscars of the Art World. But under it all, of course, is money and money-making on a huge scale. It's all about marketing - smart, relentless, fastidiouslessly planned marketing. That stark aspect stayed with me after the images faded.

So much of it comes down to fitting the current trends, and having something extra that allows you to be marketed as a brand. I used to think it was only to do with quality, but it's far more complex than that. It seems to me that artists now have to plan their careers like a game of chess. And what if your work is simply not marketable? Sometimes there is no reason why one thing sells over another, though names can be made by the big galleries. And broken.

I have a wide circle of artist friends. Some make a living from their work, some sell intermittently. One said to me recently, 'See your work as a commodity, like goats and celery at the market. You have to detach yourself emotionally when you finish a painting, and if it doesn't sell, just make another!'

('Chances.' Oil and acrylic. 70cm x 49cm)

Paths Long Travelled

2010-10-05T00:51:00.000-07:00

September 25th Saturday.

This date was circled in my diary many months ago. Scrawled in red was, 'Don't forget APT Open Studios!' These open studios showcase the work of artists working at the APT studio complex, in Deptford, London. I was really looking forward to this event because several of the artists were my tutors at college (Mali Morris - newly elected to the Royal Academy - Clyde Hopkins, Geoff Rigden), and one artist, Nicola Rae, was in my year at college. I was also curious to see what they are doing now, and hoping to re-open connections. Being an artist is a lonely business, and having artist friends is of great value. They are among the few people who are able to understand one's daily obsessions and preoccupations.

I ended up spending nearly 4 hours going around the studios - there are 37, plus a gallery - and I was in heaven, being able to talk art! There was a great variety of approaches and themes, from abstract through to figurative, and after lots of animated discussions about paint and aesthetics, I had a lovely talk with Nicola. We reminisced about our student days, and I suddenly had an inner vision of paths long travelled. Far from being a painful reminder of the passage of time, the visit highlighted a luminous path stretching into the future.
('Park, Night Paths,' Oil and acrylic, 61cm x 45cm. 2010)

One Among Many

2010-09-22T04:45:00.001-07:00

As a postscript to my previous post, this is a painting that came directly from the experience of my rejection by the selection committee for the Discerning Eye exhibition.

After I climbed those basement stairs, with my bags of paintings swinging from my hands, I meandered along to the Mall Galleries, where I would have shown in November, had I been accepted. It is one of my favourite galleries because the cafe is in the centre, so you can drink your coffee and entertain lofty thoughts about the work around you. On this day it was the prestigious Threadneedle Exhibition, which I'd been tempted to submit work to. I realised that my work would not have fitted the tone of this show.

This realisation instantly offered an idea for a new painting. I made an emotional little drawing in biro about being just a number among many, and the eternal fight to carve an identity, artistically, personally and creatively. In today's ever-homogenised world, I believe that many people feel that they are merely a tiny and unimportant part of an impersonal machine. This is why many of my figures have towels over their heads.

('One Among Many,' Oil and acrylic on canvas, 51cm x 41cm. 2010)

Dread and Inspiration

2010-09-21T00:20:00.000-07:00

Friday September 10th.

I woke up with a stupid knot of dread in my stomach. It slowly worked its way through my whole body, as I opened my eyes and realised that I had to go to London to collect my rejected paintings. My first thought was, 'Oh no, everyone will see that I'm collecting ALL SIX paintings!' Then as daylight and my pink orchids shimmered before my eyes, it occurred to me, 'Who exactly is everyone?' It wasn't as if the whole of the world was going to mutate into some composite being, (there's an idea for a painting!), which was going to sit there jeering as I collected my pictures. This realisation was calming, as it made me reflect on how one is viewed, or thinks one is viewed. How many people have to like you, or what you do, in order for it to be valid?

Before I went to collect the work, I was lucky enough to see an exhibition of drawings by one of my favourite English painters, Keith Vaughan (who died in 1977). As I entered Gallery 27, in Cork Street, Keith's rich visual energies enfolded me, and instantly I felt all the potential for creativity return. That's what good art does for you - it gives a sense of life, and its onward flow. As I admired this artist's work, I felt a kind of encouragement from each drawing, as if it was saying, 'You never fail, because there's always the next painting.'

As I stepped down into the dark basement where artists were queuing to collect work, several sad faces peered at me. They were all feeling that sting of rejection. No one jeered, no one passed judgement. Silently I wrapped the six paintings. It didn't really matter that I'd been rejected because I knew I'd done exactly what I set out to do in each painting. Even as I walked back up the narrow steps, I had the next paintings in front of my eyes, and could hardly wait to get home to start them.

(Paintings: 'Autumn Stripes,' and 'Flooded Fields.')

Other Artist's Successes

2010-09-08T06:30:00.000-07:00

When I began this blog my aim was to describe my experiences without any sugar coatings! I'd read many artist's blogs and most of them sparkled with glowing reports of this and that success, each one creating a picture of a logically developing career, with step by step success. I know of artists whose careers do in fact progress from one success to another, and of course success tends to snowball, as people start to see your name repeated at different venues. I've often wondered if my own struggles were a rarity, and it crossed my mind that maybe my work wasn't good enough. Over the years I've been to numerous exhibitions to see what is actually accepted, and I've come to believe that there are many artists who don't get noticed simply because they don't fit the bill of what is wanted, or the selectors' tastes. The narrow band of acceptance will always be defined by these things, which can sometimes be at odds with artistic merit or aesthetic merit, and certainly it's not an even playing field. And so we go onwards.

Today I received yet another rejection notice, this time from the Discerning Eye Exhibition (a prestigious annual show which takes place at the Mall Galleries each November). I don't want this blog to degenerate into a bitter and twisted tirade along the lines of 'I never get work accepted for anything, I'm one of life's unrecognised artists!' So I tried to keep a balanced outlook as I opened this notice. Then I saw the dreaded and heavily written R in front of each of the 6 works I'd submitted. I felt a sharp pang of disappointment followed by disbelief. I squinted to see if perhaps one of these R's was really an A, but no such luck! I was drinking coffee in my favourite cafe, a new ploy to prepare myself for the inevitable jolt, and my mind stumbled for a few moments, seeking some kind of explanation or reassurance. Then I remembered something. An artist friend told me recently how she'd seen a painting that was rejected from a famous show one year, but went on to be accepted the following year, and won the top prize. There is no rhyme or reason, it comes down to the tastes of the selectors.

Some Success

2010-08-23T08:29:00.000-07:00

My contract with Elegant Clutter came last week. I'm over the moon! The 6 cityscapes I had digitally scanned in Birmingham on June 30th are now on the company's website. (http://www.elegantclutter.co.uk/ My paintings can be found under Cityscapes in the elegant clutter artbook section - the red book at the top of the home page - on page 8.) The work is now available to hotels and the leisure industry as prints. Next step is to scan the 5 landscapes that Elegant Clutter also want as prints, the current obstacle being the cost! For the moment, I'm waiting to see what kind of response the cityscapes get.

(Paintings: 'Spring,' watercolour, and 'Nicosia,' oil painting.)

Spring Fever

2010-07-23T08:44:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's true that as you get older, the years pass faster! I've never known a year to slip by so effortlessly, and invisibly. Perhaps it's because I have been busy with painting, and busy with Life Events. My niece had a major operation, I've set up my own website (which required many hours, to study the manual on how to do it), and I've been occupied taking paintings to Birmingham be digitally scanned for inclusion on a website that sells prints to 4 and 5 star hotels internationally.

My paintings became more concerned with overworking, to find the right balance of colours and shapes to convey my internal world as well as the external image. Consequently, while I have made many watercolours in situ this year, the numbers of my oil paintings fell, as I worked very intensely on a group of 8. I like the idea that I am free to take them in any direction the painting demands, and the sense of confidence that comes from fearlessly destroying whole paintings, knowing that sooner or later the true form will emerge. And if it never emerges, then the 'failed' painting becomes the foundation for something new.

Increasingly, my paintings either evolve from watercolours painted in the land, or from drawings made from the memory of a place, or concept, or dream. Sometimes all my sources overlap.

(Paintings: 'Women Behind the Trees,' Watercolour, 16ins by 12ins/'Diving into Green,' oil & acrylic, 91cms x 61cms)

Fiona has her own website!

2010-05-13T04:13:00.000-07:00

It's taken me 2 weeks to set up, but finally my website is up and running! It can be seen on the right hand side of this post, under 'Fiona's Paintings website.' It still needs a little updating, but showcases all the themes I like to paint.

Currently I'm painting outdoors. I'm totally obsessed with the colours of Spring. As I travel in the taxi every morning accompanying my niece to school, the vibrant passages of fiery greens, pinks, ochres and infinite variations of lemon-greens, and lilacs, have been an immense inspiration for painting. Though the new oils started out in a fairly literal way, I now find I want to spread shapes of colour across the canvases in an abstract way, just letting the colour dictate how the paintings should proceed.

Other than that, I'm about to get some paintings scanned digitally for a company that wants to put them onto prints for 4 and 5 star hotels and restaurants around the world. Considering that a year ago, my London gallery politely dumped me, I feel that things are looking up! (Read post from 12th May 2009, called 'Striped Coffee Cups.')

The Far Edge of Winter

2010-03-08T06:06:00.000-08:00

This painting says everything about the potential of the approach of Spring, and the rising waves of energy I feel as a painter. Though it's still like the arctic here, I have struggled to go outside with frozen fingers and feet, to start some new landscapes. In comparison with last year, when the colours of Spring excited my eyes and brush much earlier in the year, there isn't much sign of impending change yet. But I can feel it, especially in the changing quality of light.

My painting embodies my preoccupation with the impending surge of light and colour. Though made from a drawing of Nicosia, my delight that day was in the luminous sunlight, the washing blowing in the breezes, a bird circling the rooftops, some men replacing some roof tiles, and plant pots on rooftops. There was also a Digger, which was demolishing some old buildings, to make way for the new. I chose this painting to mark the far edge of winter, and brighter, more optimistic times to come.

Last Exhibition of 2009

2009-12-28T08:55:00.000-08:00

This was one of the most exciting shows I've taken part in. The gallery was the 3, Bedfordbury Gallery in Covent Garden, and was one of the most perfect galleries I've seen, from the perspective of lighting, space, and location. My 3 paintings were at the top of the stairs, on the first floor, a great way for your work to be encountered, and the lighting came from both ceiling lights and a window, and was very favourable to my colours. I liked the layout of the gallery, which was over 3 floors, and when I arrived in the evening for the Private View (10th December), the spire of nearby St. Martins' church was magically illuminated by the street lamps. The narrow streets around the gallery were overflowing with small shops and Pubs, and the atmosphere was quintessential London. Being near to Covent Garden, the streets were a stream of shoppers, and the exhibition was well received.

I showed 2 landscapes and a 'Women in the Turkish Baths' canvas.

Missing Nicosia

2009-12-07T04:55:00.001-08:00

On yet another deeply dreary, wet, and dark winter's day, I'm missing the vibrancy, sparkle and sunshine of Nicosia. At this moment I'd love to be reclining on this rooftop, listening to intermittent church bells from four Greek Orthodox churches tucked between golden slabs of concrete, and closing my eyes to follow the eerie but melodic prayers from the large mosque in the Turkish side. The blue mountains change colour like a kaleidoscope as the sun moves across the sky, while shadows flicker across the city like the uncertain brush of a painter. If I imagine really hard, I'm there, drinking my coffee on that roof and simply enjoying the fragrant, colour-infused atmosphere. A glance across the city takes in thousands of unknown lives, shielded behind curtains, shouting on the narrow streets, or watering plants on rooftops and watching me.

(Painting: 'Fiona Leaving Nicosia,' Oil on canvas)

Location Sketches, Nicosia

2009-11-23T05:46:00.000-08:00

I have always loved drawing Nicosia from rooftops, and when I lived there I spent many exciting hours seeking out rooftops which would give me a panoramic view of this beautiful city, with its minarets, assorted church spires, and tiled rooves. Many flats there have flat rooves, and I wandered the streets seeking out buildings that might have the potential for a great view. I often entered unfamiliar buildings, climbed the narrow stairs to the top, and checked out the view. Then I would sit on the roof, amongst washing and pots of plants, and make my drawings or watercolours. All around I could hear the traffic, and voices below on the streets, and I loved being a silent observer. I always liked to find new viewpoints, and this quest was not without hazards. The closer you ventured towards the Green Line dividing the city, the more suspicious you might look if you were seen drawing from a rooftop. One time I asked to draw from the Delphi Hotel, which was not particularly near the Green Line, and the Manager was waiting to see my drawing as soon I came down from the roof. I never knew exactly what he thought I could see and draw from there, but he was extremely relieved when he saw the vagueness of my drawing, saying 'It's modern art, isn't it?'

I never ceased to be enthralled by the endless shades of gold and yellow walls, red tiled rooftops, the ever-changing blue of the distant Kyrenia mountains, and the swaying palms and Cypress trees. It's a theme that still inspires me, though now I can sit in the 6th floor cafe, in the Shacola Tower, and draw or paint from there . Now no one cares what I'm painting, except perhaps tourists.

Living on the Green Line, Nicosia

2009-11-10T01:36:00.000-08:00

At the time I lived in Nicosia, from 1984 to 1998, the memories of the Turkish Invasion of 1974 were still fresh in people's minds. We were always aware of scuffles and tensions along the Green Line, the line that divided the Turkish-Cypriot northern third of the island from the Greek Cypriot southern two-thirds. I lived not far from the Green Line that ran through Nicosia, and I was inspired to write a novel about life in an unstable country from an artist's perspective. Here is an excerpt from my novel:

'At four in the morning we heard a man chanting a Turkish prayer from one of the mosques in the other side of Nicosia. The hauntingly beautiful melody sent a delicious shudder through my warm, naked body as I lay next to Tom. Drowsily, I thought about the Green Line, and the many people hidden from us beyond it. Hearing the same prayers, breathing the same fragrant night air.

From the Guest House you could see the flags that marked the Green Line. It was only since I moved there that I had become truly aware of its presence. The long street ended abruptly, cut by blue and white striped barricades and an unyielding check-point. I lingered nearby, squinted to try to see the derelict yellow villas and walls of broken windows trapped in the buffer zone beyond the check-point. I glanced in disbelief at the young soldiers standing there with their guns tucked casually under their arms............ Is this real? It looks like a scene from a film! Surely these angry young men were partying at some nightclub last night?

Sometimes, when I wandered along the section of old Nicosia that lined the partition, I looked at houses on the other side and imagined figures moving behind the curtains. Were they also looking at me, wondering about life on this side of the wall?

Deserted houses merged seamlessly and silently into the partition. Then it continued its determined path behind and between crumbling buildings, and meandered along the top of ancient, stone walls, mutating into barbed wire and sandbags. Its uncompromising form glared at me, taunting: 'On my other side, not very far away from where you stand, you could see...'"

Now the Greek Cypriot side of Cyprus is in the EU, and attitudes have changed along with the interest in MTV, and the internet. I often wonder what changes another 10 years will bring. In my opinion artists have a lot more freedom than they did when I lived there. I used to paint on the streets and get chided by Tom's friends!

Why bother Painting?

2009-10-19T06:20:00.000-07:00

I read several art blogs recently that pondered the question of why anyone would want to bother painting? Why, when it doesn't help the world in any visible way? What real meaning does it add? I think that it's hard sometimes for people to understand what an artist's work is 'about', as art is not a universal language, except in certain traditional forms. It's even harder to understand why, in a materialistic world, anyone would be driven to follow a vision or ideas with no sure financial gain.

On a personal level, painting helped me to survive after the sudden death of my partner. It gave me a focus, underlined the ongoing potential of life and creative ideas, and opened up new meanings. It reiterated the eternal artistic questions as to why THIS light, this colour, and this mark might be valuable in the life of the mind, and the world of feeling. These continuing struggles are very real to most artists, and preoccupy them daily. I commented on a recent blog post by an artist called Albert Sughi, on Absolutearts, who described the inner conflicts that are the companions to most artists in their studios. This is my comment:

I find that as an artist you can never know in advance how a painting might work out, and this uncertainty is part of the creativity and wonder of it all! For me, ideas emerge through the act of painting, and some of my worst paintings have suddenly triggered off a new way of working and wider ideas. It's like casting out a net over and over. The great thing about a painting is that it's never really ruined - you can keep going back to it, or change it into something else. It was encouraging to read your article, and to know that other artists have these concerns. As to why we bother to paint at all - a question I read in a previous article - I believe that meaning evolves and is not a static quality, and painting puts you in touch with evolving meanings.

I would like to add that I believe that for artists, and many people, Art enhances their view of the world, or at the very least adds a spark of brightness.

Paintings of the Turkish Baths, Nicosia.

2009-09-21T06:14:00.000-07:00

Here are a few further examples of my series of 'Women in the Turkish Baths.' The lilac one is called 'Fiona in Blue Jeans in the Turkish Baths.' It is a mixture of oil and acrylic on canvas, 95cm by 54cm.

The next one is called 'Blue Baths.' (66cm by 46cm.)

First time of exhibiting the 'Baths' works in London.

2009-09-18T08:52:00.000-07:00

In December I will be showing a couple of my 'Women in the Turkish Baths' paintings at a gallery in Covent Garden - more as soon as I have the exact details. I'm currently finishing a largish oil, my latest in the series, and hope to show two paintings. It will be the first time I've shown any of these works in London, as mostly I have shown landscapes, (most recently at the Llewellyn Alexander gallery, in June.)

Women in the Turkish Baths

2009-09-10T08:22:00.000-07:00

One of the highlights of living in Nicosia between 1984 and 1998 was discovering the ancient Turkish Baths in old Nicosia. No one was able to tell me exactly how old this building was, but it must have been at least 400 years old. Inside was a decorative but shabby changing area, and then you walked, wrapped in your towel, along a corridor, dodging a naked light bulb, and entered the heated chambers. There was the main chamber, with a raised hexagonal plinth which you could lie on for massages, and several arched doorways into smaller chambers. These contained small concrete basins. As you sat there in the steam you could hear water dripping from a rusting tap.

What I also loved was that the ceiling of each chamber was domed, and decorated with tiny pieces of glass. Shafts of light came down through the glass and painted the figures with rainbow colours. From the outside the building was a conglomerate of four small domes and one larger, central dome.

Womens' days were Wednesdays and Fridays, but it was always funny how men would open the door to the rest area and say they hadn't seen the signs!

I used to go into the rest area and the heated chambers with my watercolours or pencils, and paint or draw the women as they undressed, reclined in the heat, or dried their hair and chatted. None of the women ever protested against my presence as I drew them, and here I was able to find the most natural and unselfconscious poses. It occupied me for 5 years, and I made many watercolours and drawings. I have used some of these as the basis for my compositions, though now I work also from memory. I close my eyes and I feel I am there, squinting in the steam, trying to make marks on damp paper onto which water drips at intervals, and all the time sweat trickles down my back and runs into my eyes. I hope this sense of the physicality of being in the Baths entered my paintings. It was a place I loved to be, as it felt cut off from the outside world, and I want my paintings to convey the atmosphere created by groups of women relaxing and chatting about their lives.

My June Exhibitions

2009-07-06T08:38:00.000-07:00

June was a very busy month! I took part in a group show at the Brick Lane Gallery from June 17th to June 22nd, and also in the 'Not the Royal Academy,' at the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery. The 'biggie' was my solo show here in Tunbridge Wells, from June 12th to June 25th. It was my first solo show in several years and I was quite nervous. 18 paintings were on show and I received a very favourable response. Below are some photos from my solo show, with me in front of some of them.

Letter in the Daily Mail newspaper

2009-06-13T08:28:00.000-07:00

This is the text of the letter I had published in the DAILY MAIL newspaper on Thursday, June 11th 2009, as the main letter on the letters page, along with a photo of myself and this painting:

'As the Royal Academy opens its annual Summer Show this week, thousands of artists across the country will still be nursing frustration at not being accepted. Like myself, they will probably be wondering why.

It was my 8th attempt. I entered an oil painting I felt quite optimistic about. I've been to many previous Summer Shows and have a fairly good idea about what gets in. My small painting, called 'Waiting,' was a metaphor for the way most people in life are waiting for things to happen. I am a practising artist, I've had many exhibitions, (and have work in 3 shows this month, including a solo show), but like many artists, I always hope for the day my work will hang proudly in the Royal Academy Summer Show. (The closest I've got so far is carrying a rejected painting in a bag around the exhibition.) While most artists realise that submitting work is like entering a lottery, we submit work year after year with a 'Maybe this time' attitude. We are lured by the promotional material that suggests there is a chance for us too.

Year after year, I see work by the same established artists, or artists I know of, artists whose style is known on 'the Circuit.' I wonder how many newcomers actually have a chance of a second glance as their work passes before the glazed eyes of the Selection Committee? Space dictates its own restrictions, but when a whole room is given over to a famous artist to curate or show his/her work, our chances dwindle even further. It's certainly not an even playing field, and each year I see many worthy and impressive paintings go on to hang in the excellent 'Not the Royal Academy,' at the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery. Many times, as I wonder why a particular painting was rejected by the Royal Academy, I find this alternative show contains the more exciting work.

In my opinion, the Royal Academy Summer Show is an exclusive club. The Show seems to be funded off the backs of hopefuls, who pay their £25 per painting submission fee, and at the end don't even get a free ticket to see the exhibition. There seems to be no control or checking of the selection process, so the final decision once again comes down to the arbitrary likes and dislikes of a few artists. I would like to see a few members of the Public on the Selection Committee, to break with the traditional loop . Let's have some new thinking on the selection process!'

The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

2009-05-27T09:10:00.000-07:00

The dreaded letter from the Royal Academy finally arrived! It was, as I expected, a rejection. My little painting, 'Waiting,' had not been accepted. I must have been among thousands of artists receiving the same letter that day, sharing the same disappointment. I doubt that this open exhibition is as open as they make out, mainly because a large portion of wall space goes to the Royal Academicians, and to established or emerging artists. Year after year, I visit the Summer Show to see the same painters on the walls, and paintings by artists I either know or know of. In my opinion, it's an exclusive club, and to get in is rather like a lottery win! But artists, ever hopeful souls that they are, keep on trying, keep on paying their £25 per work entrance fee. (We don't even get a free ticket to see the exhibition.)

I'm sure I'm not the only artist to feel that it's an uneven playing field. It always will be, when there are established artists all fighting to retain their spaces, or people using their connections and networks. When I go to see the show in June, there'll be work to admire, paintings to wonder, 'How the hell did that get in?' and perhaps one or two surprises. Then next March, the process starts up all over again. I would love to know are there any other artists out there feeling as frustrated?

Striped Coffee Cups

2009-05-12T03:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a red-circled date in my diary. It was the date my gallery was returning my paintings. My short reprieve had failed. The manager, Mr P, had kindly offered to drive the 9 canvases back to me from London, and I waited anxiously for the ring on the doorbell.

I'd prepared for his arrival, still hoping in vain to be seen in a good light. I'd scrubbed the striped coffee cups in preparation for our last coffee, I'd screwed the leg back onto the wobbly, mangled old coffee table, so it wouldn't collapse when we put our steaming cups on it. I'd even cleaned the bathroom, paying particular attention to the toilet.

Still feeling rather raw about being dumped by the gallery, I consoled myself with the thought that at least Mr P. would get to see my numerous large canvases, glowing splendidly on the walls. He'd never seen them, not that it would have made any difference as they were too large for the gallery. Surely he would, for the sake of our 2 year association, and out of protocol, drink a last coffee with me? He couldn't be planning to fling the work out of the car windows as he passed along my street?

Mr P. arrived at 11.15am. I wondered why he chose not to park in one of the spaces outside the block of flats, and instead stopped his car at an angle across the drive. 'Thanks so much for delivering them back to me,' I said. He asked, 'Do you want some help inside with these?' I said 'Yes, thanks very much,' but he shoved them up against the nearest wall faster than I could say, 'Aren't you coming in?' As he pushed a form at me to sign for the delivery, I asked 'Don't you want to come in for a coffee?' Sheepishly, he shook his head. I couldn't help myself - I blurted, 'But I was really hoping to show you the large works.' He merely said he was sorry they hadn't been able to sell more of my work. I said, 'You win some, you lose some. Anyway, I've got 3 shows in June.' His eyebrows raised, a look of surprise spread across his face. I wasn't going to end on a negative note!

I waited for a formal goodbye, but he got into his car. The encounter had taken all of 5 minutes. As I carried the works to the side door, I noticed Mr P. sitting in his car, perhaps watching, perhaps working out his homeward route. I waved as he turned the car, and he was gone.

As I struggled with the canvases down the stairs into my basement flat, I felt an untidy medley of emotions. Sadness that I would never see Mr P. and his lovely gallery again. Panic that no one might ever give me another chance to be part of a 'stable' of artists at their gallery. And defiance! I unpacked the works. They looked better than they should for rejects. The positive thing, I told myself was that I had more than enough work for the 3 forthcoming shows.

Now a day later, it's all slipped into perspective. That was not the only gallery, nor are they the yardstick of quality. The art market is a complex thing, even more so in these times of financial crisis. Plus there's the artist's dilemma. Do you make work that follows your vision, hoping it fits the current trends, or do you doctor your work to fit what is wanted? I could do any number of photographic, realist paintings (I used to live from doing portraits in Cyprus), but the lure of composing with colour beckons. I'm not going to adopt an 'I'm a misunderstood artist' stance, just hope that soon I will find a gallery where my work fits.

As for June, I can't wait for the 3 shows. First is my solo show here, in a new space called 'The Big White Wall.' Then there's the 'Not the Royal Academy,' at the Llewellyn Alexander. I had work chosen for that from photos. Finally, I have work going into a group show at the Brick Lane gallery. Will anything sell?

Paintings: 'Sussex Journey,' (oil on board), 'Spring landscape,' (oil on canvas), 'Spring Stripes,' )oil on canvas.

The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

2009-04-20T01:39:00.000-07:00

I delivered my painting, 'Waiting,' to the Royal Academy on April 7th. I didn't think I could manage to do it, being in the throes of a vicious form of Gastric Flu. What made it even worse was that the queue to the Academy was the longest I've ever seen! Normally when you go through the Burlington Arcade to get to the back of the Academy, you turn right and the entrance is only a few steps along, and usually you wait no longer than 15 minutes to step inside. On this day - the one day I didn't want to be stuck in a queue far from a toilet - I stepped out of the Arcade onto a pavement so congested that I couldn't see the cars on the road, or even where the queue ended. I had to walk right down a fat line of people holding canvases of all shapes and sizes, to where the queue fizzled out onto the next street. As pedestrians jostled to find a way between painters and huge canvases, someone came along and told us we were blocking the pavement and were a safety hazzard.
I waited at least an hour. I spent it listening to painters discussing the abnormal length of the queue, whilst trying to ignore my heaving intestines. There was a man who had travelled all the way up from a Museum in Plymouth to deliver a large, bubblewrapped canvas. He chatted away amicably with another artist who was selling paintings in a London gallery. This interesting fact prompted me to turn and try to view his unwrapped large painting, to see if it was any good. But it was wedged in the queue in such a way that I only had a glimpse of yellow and black.
I tried to work out how many artists were in front of me. If there were 80, and each took 5 minutes to drop off his or her work, how many hours would it take me to get there? In the meantime, as I neared the entrance point - which was much further along than one we previously used - I noticed a huge red canvas with a woman playing a guitar painted across it. It was quite impressive, but the voices behind me echoed my own sentiments, namely that large paintings don't stand a chance when space is so limited. Unless of course, you have a name!
Finally, I followed the now single line down a very narrow alleway, with brick walls that were black and smelled of soot. At the end was a doorway and we were allowed in 3 at a time. There were 3 tables and I hurriedly unwrapped my small canvas and a young woman disappeared with it.
My hopes are not high but it's one of those things you feel you have to take a chance on. It's my 8th or 9th attempt, and inevitably my fingers will be shaking as I tear open the envelope at the end of May. The only thing I can say this time with certainty is that my painting was good and deserved to get in - but that's not always enough!

2009-04-02T01:57:00.000-07:00

This is a small oil painting I have just finished and which I am entering for the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition. It is called 'Waiting.' The idea came from a visit to the cafe at Burrswood one Saturday when I went there to paint. I usually paint in watercolour for 3 or 4 hours then go to have a coffee. On this particular day I noticed a group of teapots huddled on a trolley in the kitchen behind the counter. I felt that they were like a group of women in conversation, and liked the way that the spouts seemed to add to the sense of animation.

I took a photo and this painting was developed from it. Since then I have taken more photos as the grouping keeps changing as teapots are taken out to waiting customers. I will paint some of these other groupings into much larger oil paintings. (This one is only 30cm by 40cm.)

As for the Royal Academy Summer Show, I'm realistic enough to know that it's a lottery! (All of these open exhibitions are a lottery, but this one more than most as usually around 12,000 works are entered, and I believe that wall space for newcomers is at a minimum!)I have submitted work 8 times so far, but perhaps this will be a luckier year?

A Bad Day

2009-03-11T09:51:00.000-07:00

Today I received notification that a painting I submitted for an Open Exhibition at the Mall Galleries was not accepted. (The painting submitted is the one in the previous entry, and is entitled 'Autumn, Late Afternoon.') It's strange but no matter how many times I submit work, and brace myself for the reply, the rejection slips always leave me feeling wobbly for a while! I spend a good hour or more thinking: 'Was my work no good?' or 'Did it just not fit their criteria, was it too colourful, not colourful enough, not figurative enough, not abstract enough....?' The list goes on and on, and each time new doubts emerge. But at the same time, I'm realistic enough to realise that one's work doesn't always fit the general tone of the exhibition, that often the personal tastes of the selection committee affect the final decision, or the sheer volume of work passing in front of their eyes makes it impossible to see or choose everything. I've learned that you should never slant your work towards what you think the committee might want - in the end you have to be yourself and follow your vision. The main thing is to keep on trying!
(With this entry are two paintings: 'Nicosia and Washing,' and 'Pool of Bluebells.)

Painting at Burrswood, kent

2009-03-05T08:17:00.000-08:00

Saturday was a perfect day for painting. I went to one of my favourite places, Burrswood. It's a Healing Centre and Residential place, with a church, coffee shop, pool and other amenities. The enormous grounds are truly spectacular. There are several spots I like to sit and paint in watercolour. One of these is down by the lake, where there's a wild forest and large rocks. Then there's the panoramic view from up the hill, which is also very inspiring. On Saturday I made two large watercolours. I may work them into oil, or I may work from some memories of being there, which makes for a more abstract, imaginative composition. I like to alternate between these two ways of working, and sometimes start my oil paintings from a few marks and colours thrown onto the canvas. Always I'm seeking to find a form to convey my experience of being in the land, and its spiritual forces.

Tomorrow I'm taking 2 paintings based on Burrswood to London. One is a watercolour of trees, sunlight and shadows, the other is an oil painting of an autumn scene (to be included in this entry, called 'Autumn, Late Afternoon.'). The oil is being entered for an open exhibition, the watercolour is going to a gallery.

I had some news last Friday that really cheered me up. The gallery which had asked me to collect my unsold work, asked for more. Consequently I'm taking up the watercolour.

Sunny day

2009-02-27T01:13:00.000-08:00

It's an incredibly sunny day and I'm hoping it stays that way so I can go out painting landscape tomorrow with my watercolours. I find that this contact with nature feeds back into my work, even the more imaginary compositions, in all kinds of ways, though it's a joy to sit and paint in the land. The paintings are not always successful, but that is secondary to the experience.

I'm preparing 3 large canvases to start some new paintings next week.

Some examples of my paintings/website

2009-02-26T09:04:00.001-08:00

As a follow up to my initial entry, I am including some examples of my work. I paint landscapes, cityscapes, and have ongoing themes based on subjects I painted in Nicosia, Cyprus. One of these is the 'Women in the Turkish Baths,' series, and I also paint images of women with various subject matter - the first image on this page is from my 'Predators,' series.

The initial tale of woe and gloom.

2009-02-26T08:17:00.000-08:00

I have just been thrown out by my London gallery. I waited many years to find one that would accept and understand my very colourful, verging on abstract work, and though initially they were very enthusiastic about the paintings, and sold one in the first week, now I have been vaguely told to go by email. Though really devastated by this, (and in the early stages of my shock I even began to see all my 100's of joyful canvases as being part of a delusional idea that I am an artist), I bounced back today by stretching canvases ready for the next 9 paintings I have in mind.

It really felled my trust in many things art, and art market related. At one point I had Uri Geller interested in 2 of my works. Subsequently he came and helped himself to one of my largest works - on the understanding that my work would be included in a huge show of his Collection at possibly (his words), The Tate or Kensington Palace. I found out later that he only wanted my bright colourful canvas to put into his pyramid in his garden, where it was bound to become mouldy and fall to pieces! I'm still waiting to hear about the exhibition at the Tate!

This blog will follow my changing fortunes, the highs and lows that all artists go through as they seek that ever elusive perfection in their work. It will also include some excerpts from my as yet unpublished novel, 'Living on the Edge,' about my life in Cyprus, where I was a practising artist for 14 years. I'm always positive and believe that if I push onwards with my work, at some point I will get the rhythm and opportunities I had in Cyprus.